Legend of the Second Dragon War
by FreedomGundam05
Summary: Two hundred years have passed since the last Dragonborn went to join the table of Akatosh. In that time the Empire has fallen from its glory and the Elves stand poised to return Nirn to the Merethic Era or simply burn it. As ancient evils rise once more Akatosh once more sees fit to give humanity one chance against the growing darkness and to correct his own mistakes.
1. Prologue Pt 1

Disclaimer: As always I own nothing involved in this story relating to the Elder Scrolls as they are property of Bethesda Softworks.

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The first thing that the young man was aware of, was the pulsing throb in his head as his vision seemed to swim in and out before his eyes, a mass of blurs the only clues to his local were the sounds of wagon wheels rolling over stone and snow and the soft sounds of the horses that pulled the carts in front of them. Finally, after what seemed like a long moment the young man's vision finally cleared up allowing him to look around, all around him sat men bound up and wearing blue chainmail and leather armor, save for two, the first was dressed similar to him in nothing more then the simple sack clothes of prisoners, the second was a large Nord man in bulky clothes that appeared to conceal a bit of armor, the strangest thing about him though was that his mouth was bound and gagged.

"Hey you, you're finally awake." Came a voice jarring him from his thoughts to look over at the blonde haired Nord sitting across from him, dressed in the same armor as the other men.

"You were trying to cross the border and walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there." He finished, nodding his head towards the dark haired man in the sackcloth clothes, as memories of what happened came rushing back to the young man. Crossing over the Pale Pass, barely making the arduous journey alive, only for someone to slam him over the head in a flurry of motion he could barely comprehend, now he realized it must have been an Imperial shield that was the cause of his current head injuries.

"Damn you Stormcloaks, Skyrim was fine until you came along Empire was nice and lazy. I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now." The other Nord growled out, glaring at the blond haired rebel.

"We shouldn't be here, it's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants, not us." The horse thief finished, focusing his attention back on the man observing all of this.

"Shut up back there." The driver snapped, he was clearly a member of the Imperial Legion the standard armor of the infantry obvious along with his leather helm.

"We're all Brother and Sisters in binds now thief." He replied, as the thief seemed to focus on the strange prisoner in the cart. "What's with him?"

"Watch your tongue, you're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak the true High King." The soldier snapped, scolding the thief as though he was speaking some of the Elven blasphemies.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm?" His eyes seemed to grow wide with fear. "You're the leader of the rebellion, but if they've got you….oh Gods….where are they taking us?"

"I don't know but Sovngarde awaits." The rebel replied softly.

"Where are you from horse thief?" The rebel called softly.

"Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

"Rorikstead, I'm…I'm from Rorikstead.

The young man turned his attention away from the others to look ahead down the road where a walled town was starting to come into view, dark blue eyes seemed to drink in the sight of the patrols along the walls before he shook his head, shaking bits of snow loose from his blonde hair. Little did he know the rebel's thoughts were mirroring his own in part.

"General Tullius the Headsmen is waiting." An Imperial legionnaire, called out.

The thief's eyes widened and he started to pray rapidly. "Shor, Mara, Kynareth, Akatosh, Divines help me…."

"Good, let's get this over with." An aged, rough, Imperial voice called back, which as they passed the gate he could see the man he presumed was Tullius. He was an average built middle aged imperial wearing a gold metal armor, sitting astride a horse just inside the gate, flanked by several Elves in black robes or golden armor.

"Thalmor." The young man spoke up softly, his voice laced with hatred and malice.

The rebel scoffed as well. "Look at him, General Tullius the military governor and the Thalmor are with him. Damn Elves, I bet they had something to do with this." The rebel spat.

"This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in…" he continued, his voice getting soft as though remembering better days.

"Funny as a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe." He finished softly, as they rode through the center of town. The young man tried his best to ignore the jeers of the people around them as they didn't play any part in why he was here, though if he got out of here, he just may have to live up to what they thought he was, as his already thin patience with the Imperials was rapidly wearing away.

Finally, the cart came to a stop alongside of a wall overlooking a small courtyard where it was clear a headsmen was waiting by the block. "End of the line." The chatty rebel muttered.

In front of them as they dismounted from the cart was an Imperial Officer in heavy armor, her shill commanding voice-barking orders. "Step forward as your name is called." She spat, clearly hating everyone lined up no matter the reason they were there.

"Empire loves their damn lists…" The rebel muttered.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." The burly man stepped off the cart with a growl coming from behind the gag. "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric." The rebel called.

"Ralof of Riverwood." The chatty blond rebel stepped forward and was lead off to the rest.

"Lokir of Rorikstead." The Nord man looking over the list called. The dark haired rebel jumped down, then started running towards the open gate. "You can't do this I'm not a rebel!" He screamed as he ran.

"Archers!" The Imperial Captain called out, and at her command several of the Legionnaires fired, striking the fleeing man in the back and ending his life, as his blood stained the snow around him. The young man looked away, a senseless waste of life at the hands of the bastardized Empire.

The Nord looked up at him then down at the list. "Who are you?" He asked, not finding the young Nord on the list.

"Gunnarr. I wasn't born in a city so none listed." He replied, neutrally, his kinsmen having done nothing to provoke him.

"Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list."

"He goes to the block." She said quickly, uncaring of if he was a criminal or not.

"By your orders Captain." He replied to his superior officer and turned back to the other Nord.

"I'm sorry kinsmen, at least you'll die here in your homeland." He said offering what little support that was possible in this situation.

"You have to follow your orders, Kinsmen or you would end up in the same place." The younger Nord said softly before facing the Imperial officer that was passing judgment on him and looking her in the eyes. "You however, I hope Talos is ashamed of what has become of his Empire and casts you all down to your Elven masters." He spat before walking off to the block behind him he could hear the Imperial women sputtering in rage and smirked softly.

"Sovngarde for me. Oblivion for you wench." He muttered before turning his attention back to the scene before him as the priestess started to offer her final prayer.

"As we commend you souls to Aetherius blessings of the Eight Divines be upon you.." She got no further as one of the Stormcloaks cut her off walking to the block.

"For the love of Talos, lets just get this over with." He growled, making sure he was looking right at General Tullius as he said Talos. Gunnarr couldn't help but smile at the Nords bravery in the face of death.

"My ancestors are smiling at me Imperials, can you say the same?" He called out as he was forced to his knees, then down and with a single strike of the heavy axe the brave Stormcloak was carried away to Aetherius.

"We'll meet again in Sovngarde Brother." The rebel that had been carted in alongside of him said softly, to which Gunnarr nodded his own head slightly in respect of the fallen Nord.

"Next the Nords in the rags, try to mess up he needs to suffer a bit." The woman called out, still seething from his remarks earlier. As he started to walk, an odd screech seemed to echo off the mountains around them.

"Did you hear that?" The Nord that had been holding the list asked as he looked around.

"I said next prisoner." She repeated growing impatient.

Slowly he walked over and faced the book glaring at the Officer the whole way down. "It should be you on this block traitor." He spat, as another of the strange sounds cut the air.

He felt the officer's feet press into his back; the heavy armored boots roughly impacted the soft unprotected flesh of his back with some pain, though he refused to show it. He could see the headsmen's axe starting to raise and his thoughts drifted back to all he had been through in his short life, his sole regret being that he would die as the last of his line, his parents having been slain some years before in Cyrodiil. As he braced himself for the end another of the sounds cut the air this time very close sounding clearly like a roar of some sort, however this time it was accompanied by a large rush of some sort like something passing through the air.

"What in Oblivion is that?" He heard the voice of General Tullius call out, whatever he was seeing was alarming him and the shadow of the headsmen seemed to turn as well.

"Sentries, what do you see?" The Officer called out trying to get ahold of the situation.

"Its in the clouds!" One of them yelled back, an arrow knocked in his bow, which was frantically searching the skies above. The headsmen went back to his task trying to finish, however it was not to be as a black mass came diving out of the clouds and landed on top of a nearby tower with a crash, sending the Imperial Archer plummeting to his death blow and knocking everyone off their feet.

"Dragon!" Someone called out, as everyone tried to steady his or her footing. Then the great beast roared knocking everyone off their feet as the skies seemed to come alive with fire as flaming rock began to rain down on the village, one slammed into the ground nearby Gunnarr and everything seemed to go black his consciousness faded.

"Damn, I'm getting knocked out way to much." The young Nord muttered as he started to pick himself up off the cold stone….floor? He blinked in confusion as he looked around. Instead of a village under attack he seemed to be inside of some sort of stone tomb or fortress he wasn't sure which. The only clues were the burning torches lighting the path across the finely cut stonewalls and floors. Slowly he started to look around his hands running across the smooth stone until his attention was drawn to one of the tombs in the catacombs he had found himself in, slowly he used his hand to rush away what seemed like Eras worth of dust and cobwebs from the inscription that seemed to call out to him.

"Reman Cyrodiil III? That's impossible. That would mean I'm in…" He muttered softly as he was able to read the inscription becoming more and more confused and alarmed by the moment, panic starting to rise in his chest.

"Sancre Tor." A soft, but powerful voice called out to him. The man spoke in but a whisper as though something had happened to his voice, yet with it, it carried a great sense of power. The man looked to be a Nord like himself, elderly but not feeble. Long silvery grey hair reached his shoulders and striking blue eyes seemed to pierce deep into the soul of the young man, the most striking physical feature of the man in front of him though was the massive scar that ran the length of his throat as if it had been slit long ago. He was wearing a travel cloak that hid his clothing from sight, yet the soft clank of metal told Gunnarr that the unknown man was armed.

"Who are you?" He called out, his voice echoing across the great empty walls to which the man just seemed to chuckle in his raspy voice.

"You will understand in time young one, come, there is someone else that wishes to speak to you." Gunnarr looked around his confusion only growing by the moment as he started to follow the man, knowing at this point he had nothing else to loose and maybe this mystery might be solved.

"How did I get back to Cyrodiil, better yet why here? Sancre Tor has been abandoned since the Champion cleansed it, yet this place seems almost fully repaired as though time has not touched it.

The man smiled softly. "It is good that you know your history, your parents are very proud you remember all of that."

This stopped the young Nord dead. "My parents are dead. They were…"

The old man cut him off. "Slain by the Thalmor five years ago because of what they were, when you were sixteen. Having gotten careless during one their trips to Cyrodiil to show you the effects of the Great War."

His eyes widened and he stopped following the man. "How do you know all that are you one of the Empire's spies, trying to see if I know anything?"

The man seemed to grow sad. "Its unfortunate you don't know who I am, or perhaps you simply don't recognize it yet. I'm sure it will dawn on you in time young Gunnarr. However to answer your question, I was part of the Empire, just not this Empire."

"How is that even possible? Are you a mage? The old Empire started to fall two hundred years ago when the last Septim gave his life to seal the Oblivion Gates forever. There are no more heirs of the joined blood and never have been. Because of this, the current Empire is a different almost beastly blasphemy of what once stood." He asked, getting more and more questions then answers as they walked up a set of stairs towards a door. The old man laughed and opened the door.

"I am no mage…" He said in his cryptic answers as they stepped out into the snowy ground, all around them stood a great fortress that had not stood since the start of the Third Era.

"Then what are you?" He asked, starting to finally loose his temper with all the questions. The man just smiled and said "He is here now as well."

"Who old man?" Gunnarr basically screamed, only for that to turn into a scream of surprise as a large golden dragon crashed to the ground behind the unknown man…..

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And so ends the first chapter of the prologue while I finish gathering my thoughts and work on kicking some Vampire ass. My own take on the beginning of the game and while this will follow the general events of the story, a lot of things will also be done differently to incorporate the free choice and ideals of the character in a way a game cannot as well as adding some things I felt need to be in play more than they are seen in game (IE: The Imperial Battlemages, which are notably missing after Helgen). This will follow cannon sides to an extent, but Gunnarr also will be carving out his own side and take in all of this, as I feel a Dragonborn should. Under the careful guise of the mentors he will have. Also, I'm sure everyone will be able to figure out who our two guests are. Don't worry, he won't also show up as the hundred year old man.


	2. Prologue Pt 2: Escape

Disclaimer: As always I own nothing involved in this story relating to the Elder Scrolls as they are property of Bethesda Softworks.

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Gunnarr's eyes widened in shock and horror as he staggered backwards, body going flush against the cold hard stone of the keep behind him.

"D…Dragon…" He muttered starting to think the black spiked dragon had taken him from Helgen here to be fed to this golden one that had to be twice the size of the last beast or more.

The old man seemed to chuckle as he took note of the reaction of the young man before him. "Understandable that you would feel some fear young one, even the greatest of the Nede and Nord warriors feared the wraith of something in their lifetime, in your case what you stand before could Shout you down with just a whisper and you would be no more. You stand not before a dragon but THE DRAGON." He explained, placing a heavy emphasis on the last two words.

Slowly, things began to come across to the young Nord and his expression became more and more confused. "The Dragon? The only one referred to by terms like that would be the…."

"Divines, yes. Specifically myself Akatosh." The dragon spoke finally, his voice seemed to fill the entire courtyard, yet it wasn't deafening it held a more mystical and knowledgeable tone to it similar to some of the old mages that Gunnarr had heard speak in his time. He turned to look at the men and his eyes widened more as he realized what the scar was from and exactly who the man was.

"Lord Akatosh, Lord Talos. I…I thought you didn't commune with mortals like this, unless….I must have died at Helgen…" He spoke trailing off at the end as he sank into a deep bow.

While the young Nord didn't feel proper rising to his feet, he still did so as not to raise the ire of the Divine beings standing before him.

"You are not dead, merely your mind is pulled from reality for a short time. As you can see around us, Talos choose the location for one you would feel more comfortable with instead of the skies of Aetherius. Though it doesn't make our presence any less shocking I know."

"Rise young one, we have much to discuss but little time to do so. The wheels of fate are already moving and the outcome is beyond even our prediction." Talos spoke, in the whisper of the man who was nearly silenced by an assassin's blade.

Gunnarr did as commanded, careful not to anger the two beings before him. "What would you ask of me, Milords?" He asked careful to be respectful.

"Ah straight to the point are we? Good. Tell me young mortal, what you saw at Helgen before we called you here to this place." Akatosh questioned, trying to prod the young man along.

"A dragon, but Lord Akatosh, I thought the return of the Dragons was to symbolize the Harbingers of the end times, the end of this Kappa." He responded, remembering the ancient Nord legends his father had caught him as he grew up.

"You would be correct, if I ordered it. However, long ago the Dovah, Dragons, became arrogant of their place. It shames me to say it, but they were lead by the first Dov I created, the one who by all rights should be considered my firstborn son."

"Alduin the World-Eater. That's who I saw at Helgen isn't it?" He asked, stories and realities starting to sink in slowly.

"Yes, Alduin was created with the desire to end the world when the time came so that I could remake it should something happen. However, the Dov's drive to dominate was took consuming. They fell to the influences of other powerful beings, tainting their purpose."

"Other beings? You mean the Daedra." Gunnarr guessed certain that the Aedra would not wish to turn their leader's creations against him.

"Yes, Molag Ball and Mehrunes Dagon. Together they focused their efforts of destructions and domination in an attempt to turn Alduin into one of their minions, they failed. Instead, the Dov's desire to dominate overcame all and the Dovah rose to dominate all of creation. At first the mortals bowed to this will, but after a period when ties with Atmora were sealed off by winter the sacrifices began to become to much and the Nord's rebelled." Akatosh paused to all this to sink in.

"The Dragon Priests, those mortals Alduin and his brother's convinced to lead their cults with promises of eternal life and great power attempted to crush this rebellion which only caused it to grow. Then, the Dovah themselves took the field and what you mortals call the Dragon War began."

"Dragon war? I thought that was only a legend, whispered about in the oldest tales from Skyrim." Gunnarr muttered in awe waiting for the great dragon to go on.

"No, it was very real and very bloody. The Nords very nearly lost the war; until Kynareth managed to break the hold on several of the Dov and at the same time blessed mortals with the Thu'um or Voice so that they may Shout. It was with these ancient tongues that the Nords were able to turn the tide of the war, though they were unable to slay Alduin. That act, would require a Dovahkiin, Dragonborn." Akatosh finished.

"Dragonborn, like Talos?" He questioned looking towards the former emperor who had until this point remained silent allowing Akatosh to relay his part of the tale.

"The fault of the Dovah, is that immortality with all of that power they ultimately forgot their place, so Akatosh created the mortal Dov, Dovahkiin, those with the body of a mortal but the soul of a Dragon, able to Shout as the Dragons could. We helped to guide and protect Tamriel as the Dov were intended, until two hundred years ago." The Emperor whispered, looking sad towards the end.

"When the last of the Septim bloodline perished. There was no heir of the joined blood of Kings and Gods. No Dragonborn Emperor to sit on the Ruby Throne and as the prophecy stated the Empire fell into darkness." Gunnarr finished, knowing this part by heart from his parents.

"Correct. Now Tamriel stands to be taken once more by Alduin and his brothers or suffer under the cruelty of the Altmer before they find a way to hasten the end and unmake Mundus." Talos finished.

"But, what does that mean to me?" Gunnarr questioned at this point, not understanding his role in all of this.

Akatosh chuckled, which seemed like a deep rumbling almost like one would imagine the tremors of Red Mountain sounding like. "The Kappa does not end unless I deem it is so and it is not yet that time. Alduin must be stopped and those calling themselves the Thalmor must be brought to justice before their perverse religious beliefs unmake all of creation.

Talos slowly walked forward and placed his hand on Gunnarr's head, a soft light seemingly enveloping the Young Nord, with my blessing your destiny will be made clearer and I will help to guide you when the time comes. As Wulfharth helped to guide me so shall I help to instruct you in ways no one else would understand.

The young Nord's mouth fell open. "Lord Talos, why me? I mean there surely must be someone more capable then I?" He asked, confused why the Aedra would place such a weight on his shoulders.

"Because young one, you have my blessing already you just don't know it yet, however I'm afraid our time has run out for now. You will know what we mean when the time comes; just know that we are watching. In your darkest hours, you will not walk the path alone."

Wait what do you mean what are y…." Then the world seemed to snap to black and the roaring of the inferno around him become obvious once again, as was someone pulling on him trying to get him to move.

"Come on kinsmen move, the Gods won't give us another chance." The chatty Stormcloak from before encouraged him as Gunnarr regained his senses and ran into the toward along side the man, finding several wounded Stormcloaks being treated inside as well as the ungagged Ulfric Stormcloak.

"Jarl Ulfric, is that a Dragon? Are the legends true?" The man asked his voice a rush in all the excitement.

"Legends don't burn down villages." The Jarl replied, in a deep voice with a heavy Nordic accent.

"That's all well and good but could one of you untie me? I'd like to have the use of my hands before that damned Dragon comes back. Incase you both forgot the little fact that it's trying to eat us." Gunnarr growled gesturing with his bound hands.

"Right let me see if I can find a knife." The rebel soldier replied, before the whole tower shook as the Dragon slammed it.

"Forget it, let's get out of this tower before it becomes our tomb." Gunnarr called out, his courage abandoning him a little bit as he started to run up the stairs following one of the Stormcloaks.

"Look out!" One of the men shouted from below, seconds before the black dragon burst through the wall, crushing the man in front of him before breathing fire down the tower, the smell of burnt flesh and cries of wounded filling the air. As soon as it was gone Gunnarr started looking around and trying to cut his binds on the rubble or anything to free his hands.

"No time, see that roof over there." The soldier called gesturing to it. "You'll have to jump it's the only way out of this tower alive right now." He added.

He looked at the gap and cursed, knowing this was either the bravest or stupidest thing he was yet to do today. Getting a running start he hurled himself onto the roof of the nearby building, which cushioned his impact for a second before it broke sending him tumbling onto the second floor of the burning building.

As he rolled, his blinds caught on a piece of the flaming wood from the building and while Gunnarr was covered in ash, soot, and very nearly burned binds were finally burned through enough he could get them off, freeing his hands before hopping the final few feet and fleeing the burning structure and trying to run towards where he thought the gate might be. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched a young boy run away towards the Nord Legionnaire from before, who was giving instructions to a man in iron armor.

"Still alive eh prisoner?" He called out as Gunnarr drew near. "Keep with me if you want to stay that way." And with that he took the lead through some of the back passages, trying to help get the younger Nord out of Helgen.

"Why are you helping me?" Gunnarr called out, as they dodged more flaming debris.

"Because from what I can tell you didn't do anything wrong, way I see it they'll assume you died in the Dragon attack, Captain gets her execution and I walk away with a clear conscience." He called back as they ran past another fallen Legionnaire. Gunnarr quickly grabbed the fallen man's sword from the ash-covered ground and kept running, at least now with some slight armament.

As they neared the keep he could seen General Tullius commanding the battle mages trying to fire spells up at the massive black dragon, which Gunnarr now realized was most likely Alduin. Using this to their advantage the Nords ran past him, hoping he didn't see the prisoner escaping the smoke and chaos of the Dragon attack.

Coming into the courtyard they could see the Stormcloaks starting to make a break for it as well coming over from a damaged part of the wall.

"Ralof, you damned traitor!" The Legionnaire cursed at the talkative Stormcloak.

"We are leaving Hadvar and there is nothing you can do to stop us this time."

"Fine I hope that Dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!" Hadvar called out as he started running, both men called for the prisoner to come with them.

Gunnarr smiled and turned to follow Ralof. "Thanks for you help Kinsmen, but I'd rather the Imperials not see me on the way out. Keeps up the illusion I died." He called over his shoulder the followed Ralof into the keep.

"Great, locked door. Now what?" He muttered looking around; trying not to look at the dead Nord that Ralof was standing over, gently speaking to.

Listening he could hear the sound of someone speaking and coming this way quickly. "Not to break your moment Ralof, but we've got company." He called quietly as he took cover in the shadows, knowing in a fair fight he was at a disadvantage without any armor.

"Get this gate open." He heard a shrill familiar voice call and the Nord smirked. They waited, then as the two Imperials crossed into the room sprung their trap and lashed forward sword and axe swinging.

Gunnarr let loose a savage battle cry and slashed his opponent across the leg, allowing her just a moment to realize what was about to happen before she suffered the same fate she had ordered to be carried out on the Nord.

"There is your justice Ralof." He said with a slightly cocky smirk as he checked her pockets for anything useful taking a dagger, a key and some coins.

"See if that key works on that gate over there, seems like she wanted to use it." Ralof called as he looted his own opponent. Gunnar wordlessly nodded and found that the key did in fact open the gate.

"I have to wonder Ralof, what happened to the rest of your men? I know I saw more Stormcloaks nearby that haven't followed us in."

"We decided to split up, take different paths in hopes that more of us would be able to sneak out. Between the Dragon and small groups, hopefully the Imperials cannot catch all of us. Especially with so many wounded." Ralof replied catching up quickly, keeping his axe at the ready as they came around corners in the stone fortress.

"As sound a plan as any right now, too many people may draw that damned dragon's attention anyhow." Gunnarr conceded as he slipped around another corner seeing a large mass of Imperials ahead of them. "Great odds." He muttered sarcastically, before a rumbling made him loose his balance and part of the ceiling ahead collapsed with a great crash, solving the problem of the Imperial numbers.

"Have to wonder whose side that Dragon is on." Ralof muttered softly. "Jarl Ulfric can do many things, I don't think pulling a Dragon from his pocket is one of them."

"I'd say it just wants to kill us all, not too picky about sides." Gunnarr remarked pushing open a door into a supply room.

"We should look for potions, may as well take them off the Imperial's hands or make sure they don't go to waste when the Dragon sends this place crashing down.

"Agreed." However before the two men could start another pair of Imperials charged around the corner, from the dust and wounds on them it was clear they must have survived the collapse in the hallway and come looking for the same healing potions the others now sought.

Gunnar parried blow after blow, trying to find a way to get at the Imperial, knowing that his currently badly cared for Imperial sword wasn't going to cause enough damage to stop the heavy armored Legionnaire that was trying to kill him. Finally he dodged one of the Imperials sword thrusts and was able to get a slash across the other man's hand, disarming him before quickly finishing the fight. He noted that during the exchange Ralof had quickly killed his opponent and located the healing potions.

"Really, you couldn't be bothered to help me, just loot?" He muttered sarcastically.

"You had him under control besides, we needed to keep moving, now take your half of the potions and lets go." Ralof reasoned, offering two small health potions.

Ahead of them the two men could hear the sounds of battle as they raced down the corridors. "Some of your comrades must have gotten ahead of us somehow." He called out to the Stormcloak, however before both men could answer they got a horrific shock.

"Gods, it's a torture chamber…" Ralof groaned in shock and disbelief. Gunnar himself didn't speak he just let loose his fury on the man that appeared to be the head torturer with a flurry of blows with a fury that he didn't even know he had within him, it was as though his blood was on fire and pulsing for revenge as he helped to being down the Imperials.

Finally when the fighting drew down and Ralof began to speak to the other Stormcloaks, Gunnar looked around the room trying to find anything of use to him, coming across a few lock picks and an interesting book on the legend of the Dragonborn near a small knapsack that he took for his own stuffing all of his ill gotten spoils into it before continuing around. In the furthest corner of the room he finally found what he was looking for. While it wasn't true armor he at least managed to find an iron shield that was still in working order as well as a bow and a few arrows. Quickly he swung the quiver around his shoulder and the bow around the other shoulder so it rested against his back, with the string taunt across his front as well as fastening the dagger's clip onto the quiver's hook instead of the poorly crafted belt on his clothes.

Ralof raised an eyebrow as he came near. "Never figured you for much of an archer."

"Gotta eat don't I? Besides, it's easier to fight at range without armor. I'd rather not see how fast Imperial steel goes through these clothes and we don't have the time for me to dawn proper armor in this place.

"Fair enough friend, I'll lead the way, you just keep me covered." Ralof replied starting down the path his comrades had directed him on. While Gunnar clipped his sword to his belt and shield onto one of the metal fasteners on his quiver so he could pull it off his back rapidly, before bringing the bow out into his hands.

He followed the group of Stormcloaks down into the depths of the Keep until the sounds of the Dragon attack above them almost sounded like they were fading away.

As they were starting to think they had gotten away they could hear men speaking somewhere ahead of them.

"Orders are to wait for General Tullius, hold this position until he comes through." One of the Imperials called out.

Gunnar signaled the group to stop as he crept forward, knocking an arrow. Carefully he took aim and struck a bowman on the other side of the room in the throat, the unfortunate Imperial fell to the floor dying as his comrades looked around in alarm. In the confusion Gunnar was able to hit a second Imperial archer into the arm, rendering it useless to fight with as the Stormcloaks emerged to fight at close range, the strange battle heat washing over his blood once more as if he hungered for it, part of his mind drifted back to Talos and wondering if this is what he had meant. Before long the Imperials had been finished off, with the loss of only one of the surviving Stormcloaks. Quickly Gunnar took the arrows from the quivers of the fallen archers and he and Ralof continued down the corridor while the other Stormcloaks waited for Ulfric to come though.

However, moments after they stepped across a drawbridge that kept the entrance safe, a blow from above caused part of the roof to collapse and rush the wooden bridge into the rock below.

"No going back that way now…" Ralof muttered mostly to himself.

"Hope your comrades can find another way around."

"They will let's keep moving." Ralof intoned and they slowly continued deep into the secret tunnel under the keep.

"I wonder what they used this for?" Gunnar called out as they kept moving, the rock and water the only sounds at this point.

"Supplies maybe, could also lead to water to be used during a siege or as an escape tunnel like now." Ralof supplied as he gestured at the stream they had been following.

Gunnarr nodded looking around them, listening to his own footfalls echoing down the long tunnels. "As good a reason as any, let's hope they kept it clear."

The two men fell into a comfortable silence as they continued down the tunnel, knowing that this was their own chance to escape and should the tunnel not lead to the surface once again this would surely become their own graves. Most concerning to them was the number of skeletons and large cobwebs that seemed to be increasing in number as they got further along the trail. Ralof held his hand up for them to stop as they drew nearer to one of the caves hearing motion as if several large creatures were moving around in front of them. "Sounds like frostbite spiders in front of us, try to take them out from range. We haven't got anything to take care of the poison if one of us gets bitten."

"No pressure then, right?" Gunnarr muttered sarcastically as he pulled his bow once more and slowly crept forward, the thin sandals the prisoners were traditionally given making little sound as he slipped around the corner, seeing five of the large spiders ahead of him he quietly sucked in a breath. He had forgotten how large frostbite spiders got during his travels and this reminder of the large creatures brought it all rushing back.

Quickly he knocked one of the arrows he had taken from the legionaries and aimed at one of the spiders furthest from him, in hopes that the beasts would be confused for a moment to allow him a chance to strike. With a quick release the arrow was sent sailing through the air and impacted into the head of the target spider with a slashing sound as it cut through the beast's head, its dying cries attracting its comrades. Arrow after arrow rained quickly from the shelter of the passage before the spiders realized what was going on.

"Alright Ralof it's clear, I think." He called back and the two men started to set forward again. Slowly they set forward into the cavern, however, a rush from above them caught their attention.

"What wa…" Gunnarr started to say before a rush knocked him flat onto his back as a spider came falling from the ceiling. He frantically tried to hold the beast's head back to keep it from biting him as it thrashed around on top of the helpless Nord. "Ralof do something you damned fool!" He shouted frantically.

"Hold still, I want to kill the spider, not finish the headsmen's work." Ralof shouted, trying to carefully aim the axe while at the same time not take more off of his friend's head then intended.

Several axe bows later; Gunnarr pushed the spider's remains off of his body with a grimace as the thick green blood stained his clothes and face. "Lets never speak of this again." He muttered and started walking away trying to save what dignity he had left after the incident.

"Looks like daylight ahead." He called back to Ralof a short time later as they kept moving, the sounds of the battle long behind them and moments later the two men stepped out into the bright afternoon light, neither yet aware of what their survival would mean for the history of Skyrim and the fate of Empires.

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And chapter two is a wrap. My own variant of the fall of Alduin and how the dragons came to act as God's to men as well as a bit more interaction and explanations between the Divines. Gunnarr's knowledge of history will be explained later why it was all so important, I will say its been hinted at in this and last chapter with the bits of knowledge on his parents and will come into play more so later. Read and Review, let me know what you think.


	3. The Long Road to Riverwood

Disclaimer: As always I own nothing involved in this story relating to the Elder Scrolls as they are property of Bethesda Softworks.

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The men's eyes struggled to adapt to the bright light of the sun after being in the darkness of the tunnel for so long. Slowly the world came back into focus for Gunnarr and no sooner had he started trying to get his bearings then an echoing roar boomed across the valley he had found himself in.

"Quick, hide!" He heard Ralof say from somewhere to the side and without any further encouragement Gunnarr dove behind a large rock pile just outside of the cave, likely leftover from tunneling or a landslide. The men watched as the great black dragon flew down the valley and then out of sight.

"Looks like he's gone for good this time, we should get moving. No telling how long we have before this road is swarming with Imperials." Ralof spoke as he pulled himself out of the brush he had jumped into for cover.

"Agreed. Any idea where we are?" Gunnarr called out as he started to look around, he could see a lush valley with a river running below them and rugged mountains all around, far in the distance he could see what looked like some ancient ruins but those had to be several days away at least.

"We are in Falkreath Hold, Helgen, was a border outpost near the Pale Pass into Cyrodiil. I grew up in this valley actually further down, in Whiterun Hold, my sister Gerdur still runs the mill in Riverwood." He replied slowly looking down that valley then sighting heavily, the river below us is the White River, it stems from that lake you can barely see in the distance. I'm glad we are high enough up to get a good view of Lake Ilinalta.

"See the ruins in the distance at the peak of the mountains? That's Bleak Falls Barrow, one of the ancient Nordic tombs that dot the landscape. Riverwood lies in its shadow." He continued raising his hand to point at the ancient stone ruins clearly visible at the top of a mountain to the north, though it was too far in the distance to see anything more then the basic outline of a structure.

"That has to be a few days journey though at most and we don't have supplies or anything to start a fire with. Let alone the fact I'm hardly equipped for a long journey." Gunnarr explained as he started to walk down the stone path, knowing he had to get some distance between himself and the Imperial Outpost, assuming it was still standing.

"Well, there is one option, but I'm not sure you'll like it." Ralof replied thoughtfully as he looked around them.

"Can't be much worse off then we are right now. We have no food, one set of armor, yours, a couple weapons that aren't worth a whole lot of gold, nothing for camp or fire, and nothing to hold water, though at least that river seems to run along the road so that one isn't as important right now." Gunnarr listed as he counted off all the essentials that had been lost when the Imperials took the supplies from their prisoners.

"There are bandits along these roads, if we were to say, do the Jarl a favor and sack one of their camps…."

Gunnarr grinned slightly at that. "We could help ourselves to whatever armor and supplies that they have in their camp. Where is the problem with that?"

"Spoken like a true Nord." Ralof replied with a grin and the two men set off down the road, carefully looking and listening for anything that might be out of the ordinary along the wooded paths.

The sound of the river to their left made up most of what could be heard as the water rushed along towards Riverwood and deeper into Whiterun Hold. The bank was an easily climbed slope covered with a normal assortment of brush, herbs, and berries that a traveller would expect to be normal in a valley like this. The woods to the right, were dark and thick running back to the base of the mountain range that Helgen seemed to have been nestled into.

"What can you tell me about Whiterun Hold and the Jarl?" Gunnarr asked breaking the silence after roughly an hour of walking and observing the area around him once he felt that he had a good enough idea of what to expect ahead of him.

"Whiterun Hold is arguably the most diverse Hold in Skyrim in terms of Geography. Laid out at the center of Skyrim it has been a trade hub for centuries. The southern area of the Hold is similar to Falkreath Hold in that is it a heavily wooded valley. Not much of note beyond that in this part, lumber and fur are the only real things we have to offer that is why the mill in Riverwood is so important. Like most of Skyrim it is dotted with mountains all around though none are larger then the Throat of the World, the tallest mountain in Skyrim and ancient home to the Greybeards."

At this point Gunnarr felt the need to interrupt slightly. "Greybeards? Like in the legends from when Talos was still the mortal Dragonborn, the ones who when they speak it causes storms?" He asked, sounding interested at that note.

"Aye, those would be the ones though they haven't spoken like that in ages. Not since Talos himself was summoned back in the Second Era, when he was still Talos of Atmora." Ralof explained then continued on to his explaination of Whiterun.

"Beyond that the primary landscape of the Hold is a flat tundra, populated mostly by the occasional farm and giant camps. Of course, stay clear of the giants and there mammoths and they'll leave you alone. Whiterun itself, is an ancient city, it started around Jorrvaskr, mead hall of the Companions, and ancient and honorable group of warriors that traces its foundation all the way back to Ysgramor himself. At the highest point in the city lies the ancient palace of Dragonsreach, the Jarl's Palace. That's the gest of the Hold. Jarl Balgruuf is an honorable man, but he has been slow to side with Ulfric if he doesn't move soon I fear we may have to take the city by force, the Hold being at the center of Skyrim makes it too important to leave to the Legion. Let alone the fact the nine holds are split on this war right now. Four for the Legion, four for Jarl Ulfric, and Whiterun neutral." Ralof explained, while Gunnarr worked to memorize all he could knowing it would be needed later if he was going to be travelling Skyrim.

"Which holds are for which side right now? Be nice to know if I'm going to be moving around."

"When we find a map, I'll mark them for you. Easiest way to remember that though is that the eastern half of Skyrim is for Ulfric with the addition of Dawnstar at north central. West Skyrim and south central follow General Tullius, which is why we couldn't head to Falkreath, too high a risk the Legion will look for escaped prisoners there right now."

"I'd rather not end up back in front of the headsmen because some legionnaire recognized me from Helgen." Gunnarr agreed and was about to speak up about when a crack of a stick breaking up ahead caught his attention, Gunnarr was just starting to draw his bow out of precaution when the first bandit came into sight.

A big burly Orc warrior in iron armor with blood red war paint came charging out of the woods right towards the men with a bloodcurdling battle cry as he raised a massive iron war hammer. Right behind him was what appeared to be a Bosmer with dark hair drawing an arrow back.

"I've got the Orc, I'm used to fighting them you handle the archer!" Ralof shouted, referring his battles against the Orc troops in the Legion. Gunnarr wasn't about to argue, given he was in no shape to fight a well-armed Orc as he was. As he started to draw back his first arrow, the Bosmer already had loose his first arrow narrowly missing Ralof.

The Wood Elf kept moving making for a difficult target, firing twice more and still not leaving a clear shot as he darted back and forth through the trees. However, his attention was pulled from his target as the Orc knocked Ralof to the ground and seemed to get ready to kill him. The strange fire burning in his blood seemed to come to a head as the fight progressed almost as if it was something aching to be released. Pivoting slightly, he saw that Ralof had managed to knock the Orc's helmet off and at only a few paces away it was an easy enough shot as he loosed the arrow the he had been trying to get into the Bosmer straight into the Orc's head, the green skinned Mer falling to the ground and becoming still as Gunnarr quickly switched to his shield and sword, trying to close range on the Wood Elf since his cover was too good for the man to shoot him out of.

An arrow barely missed him, glancing along his left side just enough to draw blood before it imbedded into a tree some feet away. The elf realized he wasn't going ot be able to back peddle away fast enough and dropped his bow, trying to draw a dagger only to be cut short as Gunnarr's sword plunged into his stomach. Quickly ripping it out and spinning around Gunnarr slashed the Elf through the neck where it stumbled backward clutching at it's wounds before it simply dropped.

Gunnarr stabbed his sword into the dirt at the base of the tree before moving his hand to check the wound in his slashed side, finding a small stream of blood that wouldn't be fatal but needed to be bandaged. He grabbed the body of the elf by the foot and dragged it back closer to the road, where Ralof was sitting up on one knee, nursing his ribs, empty bottle of potion beside him.

"I got cocky, not used to fighting with an axe like this." He muttered, voice thick with pain.

"Are you going to be alright?" Gunnarr asked, concerned for his friend's well being.

"Give me a moment for the potion to run its effect, nothing broken, armor softened that much. I feel like a giant stomped on my stomach though." He coughed out.

"Well, looking at that hammer. I would say that is relatively accurate." Gunnarr replied as he slowly made his way over to the fallen Orc to inspect it. The armor was dented and showed heavy use and a lack of proper care but still in serviceable condition. Gunnarr closed his eyes and quickly thanked the Divines for providing something to cover himself with before he started to unlatch the armor.

Behind him he could hear Ralof standing up and starting move before coming over. "Taking the armor eh? Can't say I blame you, heavy armor as never my thing but to each his own."

"I grew up with parents who used to wear armor in their profession. It is what I was trained with, not the same style as this clearly but heavy armor is what I'm most used to fighting in. Shame there isn't a better sword though, I'd like to get rid of this Imperial junk the blade is too thick for my taste."

They rolled the Orc over to pull the back of the chest place out from behind the body as Gunnar started to pop the fasteners on the grieves. "Too thick? It's only about twice the width of a normal sword. That is easily enough compensated though."

"Normal swords I can handle, but lets just say the blades I grew up learning with or using were significantly thinner than the blades the Imperial Legion uses." He grunted out, with a bit of effort as he managed to get some of the stuck fasteners loose and removed the boots and grieves.

"Some kind of specialty sword then?" Ralof asked, turning his attention towards the bandits small pouch of supplies.

"Something like that, yes. Got any cloth in there I could use?" He asked starting towards the river for a moment. Ralof looked around and couldn't find any in the pack, instead he took a dagger and cut away at part of the bandits shirt before taking it down to the river where Gunnarr was washing his shallow wound out.

"Archer got you a little bit." He pointed out as he dipped the cloth into the cool water of the stream and washed it off before handing it to the younger Nord.

"Aye, just a scratch though. Another battle scar to regale the ladies with tales of my valor." He joked slightly as he bound the small wound with the wet cloth before turning his attention to the armor again.

"Want to take a look at what that archer had while I get most of this on?" He suggested as he sat down and pulled off the sackcloth shoes.

Ralof nodded and headed off in the direction of the fallen elf as Gunnarr took off his belt and pouch of supplies before slowly putting on the grieves and fastening them as tightly as he could with the bindings, it wasn't the best fit but it was more protection then the cloth pants had offered. Trying on the boots he found they were larger then his size and would also need refitted, but at the same time it was better they were a bit too large then too small as it allowed him to at least use them.

"Ralof when you have a moment, I need a half with this plate." He called out pulling the piece over his head and attempting to fasten the sides.

"Coming, give me a moment. Our elf friend had a few things on him." Ralof called back, then a few moments later he came around the trees carrying the elf's pack that he had been picking through in one hand and a blood stained piece of parchment in the other hand.

"Our little friend, had a map to his encampment on him, looks like they had patrol routes marked on this road. Legion deserters most likely." Ralof elaborated as he helped to pull the straps as tight as they could, like the rest of the armor it was a bit looser then it should be, but still was significantly better then just wearing clothes against enemy steel.

"What are we waiting for then?" Gunnarr said with a grin, ready to get himself into action almost as if something more then just his normal Nordic hunger for battle was helping to push him forward.

Ralof took the lead as they headed down the road with their fresh spoils in their packs, slowly and quietly guiding them down towards Riverwood before making a turn and heading towards the mountain.

"From the looks of this map their camp should be near the base of the mountain, for our sake lets hope so. We've only got a few hours of light left." Ralof quietly commented as he checked the map again.

"Lets hope they have what we need or this is going to be a long trip." Gunnarr replied his left hand resting on his sword trying to keep it from making noise as they moved.

Slowly they climbed the path listed on the map and before long they began to hear voices up ahead of them. As quietly as possible Ralof pulled the iron war hammer that had belonged to the Orc out while Gunnarr pulled his own blade and shield as they crept up on the camp. Ducking down they could see three shapes around a fire, all-wearing fur armor.

"Looks like we must have killed their heavy hitters." Gunnarr said quietly as they sized up their opponents, then slowly the two Nords crept up on the camp trying not to announce their approach until they were close enough to engage so as to now allow the bandits time to prepare themselves, in hopes that at the camp they didn't have their heaviest weapons on their person at the time.

Then, without warning a forth man exited one of the small tents they had put up along the mountain, the only way up or down to them was a small wooden walkway. Then after a moment he started to head towards their way.

"Breton." He heard Ralof mutter and he shuddered mentally.

"Likely a mage then, kill him first." Gunnarr noted and the two started at a dead run from their position in the woods. The mage looked up in surprise then shouted at his comrades to let them know what was about to happen.

The Breton turned to face them, magic clearly trailing off of his hands as though the air was coming alive. Then in a single motion the Breton sent shards of ice hurtling towards the advancing Nords. Gunnarr raised his shield and deflected most of the shards headed his way while Ralof simply dodged because of his lightweight. The Breton back peddled firing spells all the way as the rest of the group started trying to come down the walkway.

The group met them part way into the attack getting between the two men and the spell caster, two Nords armed with swords and hide shields and one female Nord armed with a dagger.

Gunnarr blocked blows from one of the swordsmen when his shield, while the second one tried to get to Ralof. The dagger wielder also seemed to focus in on Ralof and his lighter armor rather then trying to deal with the heavy armored Nord. Gunnarr kept blocking with his shield, while keeping an eye on the Breton, which seemed to have decided to aid the swordsmen in attacking him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Breton preparing an attack and the rush of his blood called out to him and in that instant he saw flashes, almost like foresight in combat that he couldn't explain, knowledge that shouldn't let be in his mind like a more veteran warrior.

Right when the Breton was about to attack Gunnarr slashed with his sword and while the Nord was off balanced he smashed the man in the face with his shield, causing him to reel back in pain, before Gunnarr used his shield to shove the man into the path of the oncoming attack. The Nords face was froze in horror as the ice shards punched though his stomach, at least one lodging in a lung and the Nord fell mortally wounded. Using the momentum, he spun around and stabbed the blade though the chest of the dagger wielding women, feeling remorse for having to end her life.

Knowing Ralof could handle himself against the last swordsmen Gunnarr turned and charged the bandit, the strange fire in his veins pushing him forward like a battle rush. The Breton fired off another wave of spells, which just impacted on his armor, staggering him for a moment and leaving dents on the chest plate. Ralof came running up behind him at this point, having finishing off his opponent and was rushing with his light armor. The Breton fell back, trying to get up the stairs, but stumbling and falling. Before he could get up, Ralof brought the hammer down on his head, finishing the skirmish in only a few moments. As the two Nords calmed down, they slowly ascended the stairs, knowing that they needed to find the gear and get out before any more bandits returned to their camp. Wordlessly they searched the camp coming up with the supplies they would need.

Gunnarr carefully opened a chest that was beside one of the tents and started to rummage around, not seeing much of interest in most of it until his hand came in contact with a rope of a pendant, carefully pulling it out he found it was a small toned iron axe head, an Amulet of Talos. Quickly he put that on, feeling slightly more reassured in his own faith as he did so for the first time since his own amulet was taken by the Imperials, yet for some reason he felt drawn to dig deeper into the chest and his hand hit something metal and long.

Gunnar started pulling out piles of clothes he assumed had been stolen from victims of the robbers and underneath he found a long, sleek, and thin sword in a sky blue sheath. The guard was gold looking, a serpent eating its own tail, with blue and gold handle. His eyes widened, never expecting to find such a rare blade in these bandits possession, let alone in such good shape. He pulled the blade slowly from the scabbard checked it as he went and found it to be in remarkable shape.

Reverently he touched the hilt, wondering whom the bandits had slain to take this blade and whom they had been planning to sell it to. However, he was pulled from his thoughts by a strange pulse from the Amulet followed by a sense of belonging. His eye widened a fraction in understanding as he slowly replaced the Imperial Sword with his new blade as Ralof whistled.

"Never seen a blade like that before. Odd curve at the tip." He noted examining the sword at the same time Gunnarr did.

"It's been a long time since I have seen one myself." He replied going back to searching the camp and starting to roll up one of the bedrolls.

"So you have seen a blade like that before?" Ralof questioned working on fasting his own bedroll to the pack of gear slung against his lower back.

Gunnarr nodded, attaching his own bedroll to his pack and fastening the lot over the small of his back below the quiver so that it wouldn't be in the way. "When I was younger, some people I knew carried them. Just have been more common before the Great War as I heard it."

Ralof let the situation drop as the two finished cleaning out the bandits of provisions they could make off with and starting back down the mountain. "Looks like we have everything we need to make it to Riverwood."

"Too bad they didn't have some damned horses though, would be nice to have some to carry the bedrolls and such." Gunnarr noted.

"It would, but we should be thankful the bandits had everything else we needed. What more could we ask the Gods for?" Ralof replied slowly, looking at the sky.

"Not much, not much…." Gunnarr agreed, letting his left hand fall to the blade of the sword. They continued on into the night, using the light supplied by the luminous aurora to help guide their path for much of the night, until they finally had to stop to get some rest. The journey to Riverwood would seem decidedly slow, more so with the news they were baring and the threat hanging over their head. Yet, they would not be stopped on this path. The wheels of fate were already turning and the halls of Sovngarde began to watch the rise of a new hero.

Far from Nirn, two beings stood looking over the days events trying to survey their work and ensure everything was going as intended.

"His blood is as strong as his will." The now young appearing Talos said softly to the dragon nearby, his armor reflecting the glow of the part of Aetherius where they stood.

"You expected anything less? The boy has a long way to go to walk the path he is on. My wayward children will not go down easily. Nor will your part of the task." Akatosh replied, almost insulted that after all this time Talos would think he would send a weak Dovahkiin to confront this task, he had to correct his own divine mistake, not make it worse.

"Oh I know, and honestly. After all that has happened on Tamriel, I suspect I'll enjoy the coming days. Justice shall be done to all who have forsaken or defaced me. I trust that blade will serve its purpose."

"Indeed it shall. The question is, how many will it take?" Akatosh said softly, looking down over the continent.

"I don't know, but Stendarr will soon have much to do. I fear he, Mara, and Kynareth shall be moved to tears before this is all over."

"I fear we all shall, my friend. I fear we all shall…." Talos finished sadly.

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And cut. A fair amount happens here, more hints about what the Gods plans are, should the Dovahkiin succeed and some more hints about the past. Without giving away too much, I'm going to say this. Gunnarr will fight alongside of Ulfric and his men, but he will not be one of Ulfric's soldiers. Consider it, an agreement that helps both further their goals. While the Dovahkiin's aren't clear yet and I don't plan to make the as such until the time comes. As always read and review.


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